


Arcadia

by RaquelSpeaking



Category: Battle Creek (TV), The 100 (TV)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2016-02-11
Packaged: 2018-05-18 01:23:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5892694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaquelSpeaking/pseuds/RaquelSpeaking
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I marathoned Battle Creek on Netflix, realized that I needed a fic with The 100 characters (began hallucinating them in, really) - came to AO3 and found none. So here I am, an avid reader, writing something that really shouldn't be written by me! It will be heavily based on the plot/quotes from Battle Creek.</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Plot Introduction / Summary

**Author's Note:**

> I marathoned Battle Creek on Netflix, realized that I needed a fic with The 100 characters (began hallucinating them in, really) - came to AO3 and found none. So here I am, an avid reader, writing something that really shouldn't be written by me! It will be heavily based on the plot/quotes from Battle Creek.

I marathoned Battle Creek on Netflix, realized that I needed a fic with The 100 characters (began hallucinating them in, really) - came to AO3 and found none. So here I am, an avid reader, writing something that really shouldn't be written by me! It will be heavily based on the plot/quotes from Battle Creek. 

If someone wants to steal this idea and "take it away, Earl" - please go ahead. Let me know in the comments what your URL is because I would love to read it. 

I will probably take some plot from Quantico and The Finder because there are only 13 episodes in Battle Creek. I highly recommend all 3 shows, but both the Finder and Battle Creek have really terrible PoC representation / plot line. Just an FYI (I was pretty disappointed about that.)


	2. "Shoot him in the head!!"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I hope you like it. I have never written before and the second half of this chapter is fully smut BUT it's the only one that's going to happen for a long time.
> 
> Wow this is long.

A mysterious figure stands in the back of a school play while an adorable little girl recites the lines to Annie. 

He creeps up behind a woman filming the girl. 

"Arcadia Police. I'm going to need this," he states, grabbing the video camera out of her hands after flashing a badge. 

"This is perfect, thank you," he says as he leaves her gawking. 

\----------------------

A seventh-generation Ford F truck screeches to a halt on the side of a busy road behind a Chester the Molester van in the small town of Arcadia, Florida. The truck is so rusty, you can't tell where the copper red paint ends and the rust begins. It's too dark to tell anyways. 

The same man shoots out of the truck and rushes to the back of the van. He's nervous but he's trying to maintain his composure. 

"It's blurry! I'm going to die for nothing because you guys are fucking cheap morons trying to film this with a fucking Android-" a man in the van complains. He's shirtless and sweaty. 

"You're not going to die, Murphy. That wasn't one of the options I gave you," the man tells John, handing the final occupant in the van the confiscated video camera. "Cooperate or go to jail, that was the complete list."

Murphy doesn't look convinced. 

"He's psycho man, he smokes more meth than he sells," Murphy retorts. He's leaning his elbows on his knees, eyes never moving from a well-lit diner just in view from the van's windshield. Murphy can smell the burnt frying oil from when the man opened the door. A wave of nausea hits him. 

"Where did you get this, Bellamy?" the only female says as she reviews the little girl on the video. She doesn't seem at all unsettled by the night's events, if anything, she looks like she's having fun. "....At least it has a zoom?"

"Oh yeah, try not to tape over that," Bellamy says as he bangs a piece of equipment on the small table in the dark van. "Reyes...what's wrong with the wire? Why isn't the red light coming on?"

Raven rolls her eyes as she mumbles something under her breath, "Jasper, I'm going to _kill_ you." 

"Who sells your equipment? Goodwill?" Murphy snaps. His eyes come off of the diner in horror. He looks like he's been slapped. 

"What are we going to do, Blake?" Reyes says, all hints of laughter gone from her eyes. 

"Ok, ahhh - Murphy. Calls us from his phone. We'll put it on speaker," Bellamy huffs.

"You're kidding me!" Murphy interjects. 

"We'll mute it," Bellamy insists. 

"Yeah, I'll just put it on the table and tell him to speak loudly," Murphy jeers. 

"We'll cover it up," Bellamy cuts back, obviously getting annoyed with Murphy's negativity. Technology isn't Bellamy's strongest suit, he rarely even texts. 

"Sure, and tell him to yell?! You're DONE man, this is pathetic. It's over," Murphy says, trying to get his shirt on in the cramped van. 

Bellamy pushes him aside to look Raven in the eyes, pleading with her to come up with one of her famous solutions. 

"Bellamy, Wick's sister lives down a few blocks and she just had a baby," she says. He breathes a sigh of relief. 

"What the fuck does Bellamy possibly being the father to some brat have to do with me DYING today?" Murphy shrieks as he falls backwards from Bellamy pushing him aside. 

\-------------

Murphy uses packaging tape to stick a baby monitor on the bottom side of the table inside of the diner he was watching from the van. He's pissed, but him aggressively hating the way things are is a normal look for him. Nothing is amiss in the diner. 

"Can you hear me? Of course you can hear me. You're going to hear me get killed is what you'll be hearing," Murphy mutters, seemingly to himself. Everything still seems normal. 

"Tristan, what's up man? Where've you been?" Murphy stutters to a tall, bald man that walks into the diner and heads straight for Murphy's table. He sits in the chair opposite Murphy and leans forward. He's twice Murphy's size. 

"You got my money?"

"Ha absolutely, what else would I be here for? The women?" Murphy observed, throwing up his hand to showcase the 60+ year old server filling up his coffee cup. He grabs the coffee pot from her and slams it down on the table next to him. "That'll be all, THANKS." 

As she walks away, Murphy hands Tristan a small black bag and Tristan immediately begins counting the money inside but is interrupted by a light beeping. 

"What's that?" Tristan hisses, snapping his head up and looking around. 

"I didn't hear anything man," Murphy responds, his pale skin somehow losing a shade of color. 

*Beep beep beep beep*

"What the hell, you're wired?!" Murphy yells as Tristan flips the table upside down. His ruse goes unnoticed by Tristan's rage. 

Bellamy runs into the diner, Raven calling for backup on a radio right behind him. 

"SHOOT HIM IN THE HEAD!!!" Murphy screams as Tristan pushes Murphy into a different table and holds the hot coffee pot above his head.

Bellamy runs behind the man and sticks a taser to the bald man's throat, slamming his finger on the trigger. Nothing happens. 

Raven quickly grabs the man's arm and chases her momentum with a swift high-kick into his face. The force causes him and Bellamy to fall backwards in an eruption of elbows and fists. The fight between the two men only escalates from there as Raven pulls Murphy into safety and withdraws her weapon. 

"Arcadia Police, get your hands on the ground. Tristan Joseph Gatt, you are under arrest," she says as the fight breaks up. 

\------------

In a beautiful, modern office in Washington, DC, employees are singing a farewell song to 3 employees who look, frankly, awkward in the spotlight. 

"Speech, Dr. Griffin, Speech!"

"I'm not good at these things," a woman at the head of the congregation begins, "but I have to say that you've all been a great asset to this office. I honestly don't know where I'd be without you, but I'm a little scared find out." Dr. Griffin says as she wipes away an invisible tear. She stares directly at the only one that isn't making eye contact with her. A young woman that looks just like her, but younger, wild and somehow even fiercer. She stands out from the crowd with bright blonde hair and a red dress, almost as if she's rebelling. "I'm so proud of you. So good luck to you all." 

Lincoln, the largest and oldest of the three, steps forward and thanks everyone involved. "I'm touched, and we appreciate everything you've done for us."

"Our loss, is Arcadia's gain," Dr. Griffin says as her gaze turns to one of distrust. She raises a glass of champagne in the air as a toast. 

\--------------

Bellamy walks into a bar in Washington, DC. He orders a whiskey, rocks and settles in. It's been a long day. 

The door opens again and in walks in a beautiful blonde, wearing a red dress and a fitted black princess coat. He loosens his tie. She finds a bar stool around the corner of the bar from him and orders an old fashioned. 

"Bellamy Blake, " he says, extending out his hand to shake. 

"It's nice to meet you Bellamy Blake," she responds, taking his large hand into hers. 

"Are you from DC?" She asks, noting his lack of a sports jacket on his chair even though it's a breezy 60 degree evening. She also notes the size of his arms and the freckles covering his tan skin, but doesn't mention that, either. 

"I'm here for my sister. She decided to take a weekend course at the Bureau."

She decides she enjoys the gravelly sound of his voice. 

"Ambitious."

"So if you won't tell me your name, what will you tell me?"

"I'm trying to be mysterious for once, I've heard it's more appealing to the opposite sex," she says with a wink.

"On your way to a party?" He asks, nodding his head towards her while eyeing her dress. 

"I just got back from one, my going away party," she responds, suppressing a shiver from the way his eyes continue to linger. 

"DC's that bad, huh?" he smirks. 

"Some might say so. Let's just say, people corrupt themselves here much faster than in smaller cities," she mentions. 

"Where are you headed-"

"Listen, it's my last night here and it hasn't really gone well for me so far. How would you feel about helping a girl out of some bad times?" She seems to be absolutely confident in this offer but he can tell she really wants him to accept it. 

He reaches in his wallet, leaves a fifty on the bar and they head out together. 

"I live around the corner, or I used to, I guess," she says as she grabs his hand. 

It's a relatively chilly night out. He's not used to the four seasons they have in DC, coming from Florida. He puts his arm around her instead as she guides them down the street. 

"You're used to getting what you want, aren't you?" He observes, eyeing the large building they're walking towards. 

"I can honestly say that I'm used to knowing what I want, is that a problem?" 

"No Princess, not at all. I'm looking forward to that, actually." 

"Princess? That must be an insult, you don't seem like much of a prince."

"No, not at all. I'm more the peasant type."

"You don't seem like much of that either." 

They're walking through the doors of the building now, and he looks over and enjoys the view of her bouncing blonde curls. She's confident and he's extremely attracted to that quality in a woman. 

She looks up and meets his eyes and smiles at him. 

"What are you thinking about?" she asks as they enter the elevator. She presses her floor and leans against the wall. 

"Where to start," he said as he slowly approaches her, causing her to back up against the elevator wall. 

She looks up at him and grabs his belt loops, pulling him closer but he grabs her wrists and puts her hands on his shoulders. He drags his fingers down her sides, from her clavicle to her breast sides and then to her waist and hips. His eyes following his fingers the whole way down. 

She closes her eyes and only vaguely registers her hands clenching his broad shoulders and her legs slightly parting. 

She feels his lips on her neck, nibbling and sucking on her skin and she flushes. He brings his hands to her waist and parts her legs farther with one knee. She can feel the heat of his body emanating off of him. He continues moving his hands up her waist, stopping when they land under her breasts as his mouth moves up from her neck to her ear. She grabs the back of his hair, intending 

"Are you ready to go?" he asks. His voice is impossibly lower. She doesn't really realize what he said until he chuckles a little. She's too concerned that he stopped kissing her neck to realize that the elevator has stopped and the door's been open this whole time. 

"Of course I'm ready, I was waiting for you," she answers. He steps away and she grabs his hand and almost runs to her door. She unlocks the front door and turns on lights as she walks in. The place is basically empty. 

"Do you even have a bed?" He chuckles. 

"Yeah, you're right. I'm sorry for bringing you here under these circumstances, Princess," she says with a smirk, leading him past the apartment's kitchen towards her bedroom. "We could enjoy my sex dungeon though; I haven't finished packing that up yet."

He grabs her hand and stops her. "Slow down. We have all night, you know. He pushes her front up against the low bar from the kitchen island and swipes her hair aside. 

"You look really beautiful in this dress. I was really surprised you were alone when you came in the bar," he says as he slowly beings unzipping the dress from her neck down. 

She places her hands on the bar and smiles, appreciating the fact the he enjoys this apparent form of foreplay. 

She pushes her butt into his groin and his happy when she feels how hard he is. He really is enjoying himself. 

She twists in his arms and lets the dress slowly fall down, revealing matching white lacy lingerie, a stark contrast to her thigh highs and garter. 

"I was wrong; you should never have worn the dress. This is much better," he says, finally kissing her. 

She wrangles his tie off and begins unbuttoning his shirt. He presses himself against her pussy and pulls her ass closer. She moans and ends up popping a few buttons off the top of his shirt in her haste. He grabs her ass harder and picks her up and sets her on the island. He takes off the dress shirt as she unbuckles his belt and starts to unbutton his pants. He grabs her hands and uses his tie to tie her writs together in front of her. 

"What are you, a boy scout?" she mocks and she tries to undo the knot he tied, to no avail. 

"Something like that, sure. I can't have you ruining my pants, too, " he says before kissing her again. She puts her tied hands around his head and feels his back muscles with her hands as his chest rubs against her breasts, wishing she would have taken off her bra when she got the chance. He takes the opportunity to take his pants off, without ripping off the buttons, and steps out of his pants and shoes. 

He starts groping every piece of skin he can get his hands on. Her thighs, her ass, up to her waist. 

"My bra, Bellamy," she moans between kissing him. She can feel the smirk form on his lips. 

His cock is hard through his boxers from rubbing it against her heat. He brings his fingers up to her breasts and starts trailing his fingertips against them, avoiding her nipples. 

"What about your bra? It's nice, if that's what you're saying." He brings his face down to her breasts and tongues her skin where the lace meets the top of her breast. Meanwhile his other hand is pulling the lace down to free her puckered right nipple. 

"Take it off, please," she says, watching him play with her. He's bent over and no longer ground up against her and she misses the contact. He puts his mouth over her left nipple now, biting it through the cloth. The lace feels rough but it feels so good to her. His left hand is on her rib cage, holding her up. When he doesn't do what she wants, she tries freeing her wrists again. He takes note and stops his attentions, much to her displeasure. 

"Bellamy please," again he's on her, kissing her. This time, he's freeing her hands. She briefly pulls him close to her, enjoying the ability to touch his back as his hot chest pushes against hers. This kiss isn't as frenzied, it's slower and almost tender. But then he grabs her wrists again and ties her hands behind her back this time. 

"I'm starting to hate this fucking tie, Bellamy," she huffs. He kisses her frown begins his work on her nipples again. The air is cold and his breath is hot on her sensitive skin. Her pussy is completely soaked through her panties and she knows he wants to be inside her at this point as well. 

"Please Bellamy." 

"Be patient, like I said, we have all night," he says, pulling the lace down under each of her breasts. He begins trailing kisses down her stomach while still plucking her nipples, soft, then hard, then twisting. She almost whines. 

He uses one hand to spread her legs wider to make room for his shoulders as he gets to the waist band of her panties. Then he continues down, kissing the top of her vagina, letting his chin lightly touch her clit, then continues back left to the top of her thigh. She groans. She's basically panting now. 

He kisses her inner thigh, down to her knee, his arms coming up under her knees as his mouth leads back up her thigh. She's so frustrated she wants to drive her heel into his back, but that might make him stop, so she doesn't. She watches as he slowly pushes his finger against her heat, pushing in and then pulling it back. It's torture. His finger is big and dark, in contrast to her white panties. 

"Gods, you're so wet." 

She's about to respond when he puts his mouth on her pussy. His eyes closed in obvious pleasure. He brings his left hand down and starts jacking off while he eats her pussy. His mouth stops just long enough for his right hand to reach over and pull her panties to the side and then he begins again. The stubble on his face scratching against her delicate skin. He begins tongue fucking her and then pulls the skin back to expose her clit more and then rubs it. She starts to get close to coming, leaning back against her bound hands, her view of her breasts and him between her legs. Her hands start to go numb and she's having a sensory overload from his rhythm on her clit. The then pulls his mouth away from her pussy and kisses her right inner thigh. He pulls his right hand out from under her starts fucking her with one finger, then introducing another. She can feel him moving his fingers around in her, stretching her out before he enters a third finger. 

"You're so tight, I can't wait to be inside of you," he says before he attacks her clit with his mouth. She comes fast once he starts flicking her clit with his tongue. She starts to lean her body back farther and farther until she almost falls over. He pulls his mouth away from her clit, keeps finger her with is right hand, feeling her clenching his fingers as she rides her orgasm and his hand and just catches her with his left hand before she slams her head on the kitchen island. He continues jerking off with his fingers in her, looking at her come down from her high, exposed and debauched, displayed for him. His cum spurts on her belly and thighs and he groans and closes his eyes briefly. His upper body collapses onto her, his skin hot and the counter below her cold and hard. Their chests are both heaving. 

She starts laughing for no apparent reason. He moves his sweaty head on her chest and looks up at her, his right hand reaching behind her to untie her wrists. 

"I'm glad you're having fun," he says, with laughter in his eyes. 

"That was the best thing to happen to me in this house," Her eyes sparkle. "I was planning on coming back here and reading tonight." 

"The best thing hasn't even happened yet," he starts as he begins nudging her nipple with his chin, smirking when it peaks again.

He pulls himself off of her and puts his boxers back to rights. He picks her up and she wraps her legs around his waist as he carries her to the hallway where her bedroom is. 

"The door on the left," she says while nibbling his ear. 

She yanks his hair, causing him to growl as he pushes the door open. 

"No sex dungeon, but it'll do, Princess," he mumbles into her neck.

He sits down on the bed, with her straddling him and unclasps her bra, then begins palming and sucking on her nipples again. The stubble on his cut jawline hurts and makes her writhe on his lap. She pulls her fingers through his unruly black hair and grinds on his dick, surprised to see he's already half hard again. 

She pulls away, much to his surprise. "Shit. Do you have a condom?"

"Yeah, they're in my pants pocket."

She practically sprints down the hall and grabs his slacks from the kitchen floor. When she gets back, he's looking at the picture on her dresser. It was from a long time ago. 

She tosses the condom on the bed and walks up behind him, pressing her chest into his back and threads her arms through his to feel his abs and chest. He makes her feel small and she enjoys the feeling. She's always been curvy and her last boyfriend was not as muscular as he is, it's a nice difference. She feels him flinch when her hand moves over a lump on his stomach. "It's just a bruise, I forgot about it, don't worry," he says, so she starts kissing and nipping at his back, where his neck meets his shoulder and reaches down the waistband of his black, tight boxers and is surprised again to find he's very well endowed. She begins stroking his length and circling his shaft with her hand. His head falls forward and he grips the dresser. Eventually she uses his dick to pull him around to face her and starts making out with him again. She pulls his boxers off until they fall to his feet and she means to get on her knees to blow him but he pulls her hand away and starts guiding her to the bed. 

"You look like someone took away your candy," he grins. He sits down on the bed and she follows him, her eyes locked on his dick, which hasn't lost any of his hardness and inadvertently licks her lips. He pulls her panties off and tosses them on the floor. He lays down and pulls her hand to where his head is and then pulls her over to the bed so she'll straddle his head and begins kissing her sensitive clit again. She leans her body down and begins stroking his shaft with a renewed vigor.

She licks the head and tastes the precum that had accumulated there. She starts bobbing on his shaft as she grinds on his mouth. His arms are locked around her ass and his fingers are exploring her pussy from behind. He keeps making growling/moaning noises that drive her crazy. She massages his balls and tries to deep throat him as well as she can but is more focused on his happy work. She can feel him chuckle when she forgets what she's doing to just enjoy the feeling of his mouth on her. He starts wagging his finger against her clit, pressing it against his tongue and she swears she forgets her name as she cums a second time. He flips her over and starts fingering her again, this time to stretch her out. 

She pushes him off of her and grabs opens the condom wrapper and fits it on his dick. He tries to get her on her back again but she forces him to sit against the wall and straddles him again. She kisses him and they taste each other on their tongues. He slaps her ass roughly as he grabs it and pulls her hips to grind her pussy on his dick and she moans into the kiss. She lifts herself up and he guides his penis to her entrance and she sits down just enough to tease him again. He roughly smacks her ass again as punishment and she moans. She slowly lowers herself onto him, pulling up and sitting down until he's fully inside of her. She grinds her clit against his hip and leans herself back against his thighs. 

He puts one hand on her waist and one on her neck, his finger touching her lips and cheek as she rides him. He leans forward and sucks on her nipple again, biting it and twisting it with his tongue.

He leans back against the wall and watches her, in awe. 

"You are absolutely beautiful, Princess." 

She thanks him by reaching down and playing with her clit as she rides him. He guides her hips with his hands and makes her go faster and harder. She reaches up and holds onto his shoulder with one hand as he forces her down on his dick, her breasts bouncing with ever thrust. She pushes on her clit as she fucks him and whimpers. 

The sound crazes him and he pushes off of the bed and throws her on her back. He pulls her leg over his bent arm and surprises her by fucking her slow. She reaches behind herself and pushes on the sheets, latching her other leg around his back, trying to meet his thrusts. He puts his forehead against hers, their eyes meeting as she plays with her clit again. It's so sensitive, it throbs almost, from the punishment of meeting Bellamy but she feels another orgasm building somehow with each relentless thrust. She whimpers as he pushes her hand away and plays with her clit again. Her body betrays her by finding an orgasm faster with his fingers than her own. She comes with long moan. She pushes her head back against the bed. He begins pumping into her tightening pussy faster to reach his own end. As her waves subside his breath hitches and his movements become irregular as he spends inside of her. He tries to keep from putting his full weight on her but she pulls him towards him and cradles his head on her shoulder.

"The sell on hell of a whiskey rocks in DC, I'll give them that," he says after they catch their breath. 

"You wouldn't believe what you get when you order a whiskey sour," she retorts, her breath catching from under his weight. He rolls off of her and off of the bed, shaking his head like he just woke up. 

"Where's your bathroom?" 

"It's the door to the left."

She can hear the sound of the toilet, then the sink running but she isn't in focus. She's never had that many orgasms without the help of a vibrator. After the long day she had, she wasn't expecting this much work on her body. 

When he makes it into the room, she's re positioned herself to just fall asleep, barely making room for his large body. He manipulates her legs and puts him under her arm and plays with her back and hair. 

"I'm not going to find my money gone from my wallet tomorrow, am I?" he asks her. 

"I plead the 5th. But it wouldn't be because I'm a hooker." 

"I just realized, I don't even know your name."

"I've been thinking about it, if your sister wants to get more involved in the Bureau, I have a friend that could be a good connection for her. I could leave you her number." 

"You've been thinking about my sister?" 

"Well sleeping with you was so uneventful, I had a lot of time to think." He pinches her ass. 

"Yeah, I'm sure she would appreciate it. If you won't tell me your name, will you tell me what you do?"

"I went to school to become a doctor," she evades his question with a truth. 

"OK, obviously evading my question again. You don't work for the CIA, do you?" 

"Haha no, never them. They're desk jockeys, who wants a job like that?" 

"I would love an office job. My work is kind of dangerous, that's why I'm here with my sister. If she wants to try something new, I'm not going to stop her. I just want her to be happy." 

"I don't have any family, so I'm sure she must really appreciate what you do for her."

He can tell she doesn't want to get into her lack of family, so he just replies, "she's a bratty little kid to me, and she always will be. But I was taught my sister, my responsibility, so I try not to look into it." 

She looks at him as he answers. She's been trying to be mysterious since she met this man but every answer he has for her makes her curious about him. She's glad she's uprooting her life because if she had met him and he left DC this quickly, she'd probably be stuck on him for weeks. She reaches up and kisses him, softly and lazily. He winds his fingers through her hair in response. 

She lays her head on his bicep again and sighs. This is exactly what she needed before leaving this place. 

They both swiftly fall asleep this way.

\-----------

He wakes up the next morning in an empty bed. He listens for signs of life outside of the empty room and hears nothing. 

_What a bummer, I was looking forward to round 2 this morning._

He leans over the side of the bed and roots around his pockets for his cell phone. 

_22 text messages? God O, it's like you think I'm not able to take care of myself._

He begins dialing her number and calls. 

" _Good morning. If you have my brother and want a ransom, you should know that I'm a cop and I have a particular set of skills-_ "

"Oh yeah, are you going to party your way to find me? Is that your plan?" He chuckles, wiping off his face. How did he really never even get her name?

" _Sorry for blowing up your phone but I was kind of bored last night. Just kidding, I went partying with the other applicants. DC is so fun Bell! It's nothing like Florida. These guys have class and they're all educated._ "

"I'm sure. They're all politicians, O. Do you want to grab breakfast or are you on your way back to the school?" he stands up and finds the bathroom again. He finds a note taped to the window but he can't read it without his glasses, which are back at the motel, like he should be. 

" _Yeah there's a waffle house down the street from the motel, meet there in 30?_ "

"10-4. See you in 30." He hangs up the phone and reads the script. It's neat, it reminds him of the calligraphy he was forced to look at when he took a course on matching signatures in contract breaking offenses. There are so many ways to break the law. 

_You really made my night, Bellamy. Thank you. Here's the phone number to the Agent I know that would be happy to help your sister. Have her tell him it's a favor for Clarke._

_(202) 555-6598_

"Clarke," he says as he pulls the post it off of the mirror. He puts it with his clothes and jumps in the shower quickly. He's got a name and an associate, he's a good enough detective to find her with less than that. 

__________________

Bellamy wakes up on Monday morning, hating that he didn't have time to run this morning because he got in so late from the airport last night. He grabs the newspaper from the front porch and finds that Octavia's field trip cost him closing the case with Raven. 

"Octavia! Let's go, we're going to be late," he shouts up the stairs. He makes a quick breakfast and reads the paper as he notes that neither his name, nor Raven's, was mentioned in the story. He hears the shower turn off and starts a finishes his coffee while he heads up the stairs for his shower. 

He steps into the cold water and sighs, the work he put in to finding out who Clarke was, so far, had no traction. He'd have to do some under-the-table things to get more information. _Probably have to bribe someone_ , he thinks to himself as he finishes showering off. 

\-----------------

Octavia and Bellamy walk into their floor of the precinct in silence, like most days. They had nothing to fight about because she was so happy from her weekend in DC. Bellamy was unsettled. He was jealous of the technology that they had, he constantly complained to Commander Kane about their lack of resources. The city always ended up shafting the officers when it came to the annual budget. 

Octavia stops in front of him, almost causing him to spill his coffee since he's already juggling a container of eclairs for the squad. A payment for finishing up his paperwork from the previous week. 

"What the hell, O? Is this how we're going to start this week?" She puts her finger on his forehead and pushes his head in the direction of the door across the hall from their office. 

He doesn't know how he missed it but the other end of the 3rd floor was completely in disarray. Workers were hustling to install desks with marble table tops, automatic glass doors, wiring and new lighting. There was someone working on a seal on the front. He handed Octavia the box of eclairs and rubbed his eyes. 

Why do they need a seal on the door? 

" _Federal Bureau of Investigation - Resident Office of Arcadia_? What the hell?!"

"Oh boy," he hears Octavia mumble as Bellamy busts through their office door and makes his way to Kane's private office. 

"Even their seal is nicer than ours right?" Detective Jasper Jordan says as Bellamy passes him. Jasper's eyes not coming off of the glass doors separating them from the hallway until Octavia walked through. 

"It's just a resident agency, guys. An FBI satellite office," Raven says as Bellamy passes her. "Hey Blake, did you see us in the paper! Oh wait, you didn't because they never mentioned either of our names, those paper pushing pricks!" 

"Reyes, how many times do I have to tell you? We're cops, not movie stars," Bellamy huffs as he reaches the doors to Kane’s office. 

He knocks once and basically barges in. Commander Kane doesn't look surprised by his actions at all. 

"Great job on Friday Detective Blake," Kane says, not even looking up from the report that was filed by Raven from Bellamy's injures from the fight. 

"Commander, Friday's bust should've gone by the numbers," Bellamy starts in. "The tasers we had don't work, they're basically fossils. The wire taps that we have set up by Jasper are closer to electrifying someone than the tasers are. We could shoot people? Is that what you want? We need new equipment. New to this world, not new to this precinct. Okay? We need the latest training and a new fancy FBI office isn't going to bring that to us. Or we could shoot people. I don't mind shooting people but something's gotta change." He's clenching the back of the chair in Kane's office by the end of his speech. 

"Great news. We're getting help," Kane says nonchalantly. 

_What the hell does he me help? Is Donald Trump suddenly empathetic towards poor counties?_ He's starts pacing in the small office, just about to open up another rant when he hears Miller holler at him. 

"Your phone's ringing Bellamy, it's your usual 8:15 appointment," the usually quiet man snickers. 

Bellamy leaves the office, knowing that if it hits his voicemail, the caller won't answer and he'll have to do a drive by. He does _not_ want to do a drive by. 

"Detective Squad. Bellamy Blake."

" _I want to file a morality complaint. Is this Bellamy?_ " an old woman says over the phone line. Bellamy rolls his eyes. 

'Hello Mrs. Seymour, are you still out of your mind?" The last part Bellamy says under his breath. He gets this call every week. 

" _It's this blonde young woman. She seems so nice but she's wearing a red bathing suit running around for the whole world to see, it's utterly obscene..._ " Flashes of Clarke dance through his mind in a red lifeguard bathing suit. He adjusts his suddenly tight slacks. 

"I tell you what Mrs. Seymour, I'll buy a plane ticket to Hawaii right away and arrest Pamela Anderson myself for you, how's that?"

" _Well, I wish you would._ "

"You got it, take care okay?" He hangs up the phone to the sound of the Baywatch theme song playing in Mrs. Seymour's house. 

Raven throws a paper down on his desk. "Sad story." 

"Really Raven? You're still on them not print our names?"

"I'm talking about the girl who OD'd Blake, did you even read the paper this morning or do you need new glasses, old man?" she brushes him off, heading to her desk. 

Bellamy reads the other story on the page. 

_Teenage Girl Dies Of Drug Overdose  
A local girl was found unresponsive during a house party in the 4400 block of Hagel. Police and an ambulance were called at one a.m. Paramedics performed CPR but the girl was unresponsive. "There's been an increase in the amount of 2C-P that we've been finding in the Arcadia area," Police Spokesperson Ann Hart said. "The name of the victim is being withheld due to her age." 2C-P comes from a family of hallucinogens with stimulant properties. It is usually snorted or smoked......_

Bellamy begins researching the case. 

\----------

Clarke stands looking out the window as Monty enters her new office. She's got a blank look on her face, the view is a beautiful park with a lake, but she's not really looking at anything but the color. The way this city is open is so different from how claustrophobic you can get in a big city.

"Clarke? It's almost 9:30," Monty says. His voice is so soft and reassuring. At least they came with her here, to this place of punishment. 

"Thanks Monty, I'll be right out," she answers him. "Big smile, big laugh, you love it here. Big smile, big laugh, you love it here. Big smile, big laugh..." She chants to herself. 

Lincoln, Monty and Clarke enter the small office of the floor. The Detective Squad department of the local PD. The desks are in rows and in complete disarray. Monty sets down his box of goodies on the first desk he finds that is almost clean. 

"Agents, thank you for coming. How are you enjoying the city?" Commander Marcus Kane asks. They've all met prior to, to make sure the local PD would be compliant and malleable. It was a meeting engaged by her mother, Dr. Griffin. Marcus seemed to be interested in their personal lives more, but her mother was more of an icy stone and did not succumb to any of his advances. 

The three agents looked at each other, Clarke offered a close-to-honest response. "I love it here. I grew up in a small town, so this is just like home away from home." 

One of the detectives seems to be watching her facial movements closely. "You grew up in Florida?" 

"Well, I grew up in California, but, you know, same deal." Octavia seems to buy the response, either that or she's so distracted by Lincoln that she forgets why she cared in the first place. Clarke understands, she and Monty have both joked around about them going through the same thing. They should form a support group. 

"Well, we're certainly very happy to have you all here, so let me go ahead and introduce you around," Kane said, gesturing to the circle of detectives. 

"This is Detective Raven Reyes," he says, gesturing to a beautiful yet angry looking Mexican girl with a smart pant suit on. If Clarke's sexual needs hadn't been met just on Friday, she probably would have embarrassed herself. Raven nods her head forward but doesn't reach to shake their hands. _Charming_ , Clarke thinks to herself, smiling wider. _It's a good thing she seems to not welcome newcomers. The last thing I need is to be sexually interested in anyone on this task force._

"That's Detective Octavia Blake," he explains, directing her attention from the fiery woman to the girl that seemed interested in her back story. They shake hands. 

"This is Detective Nathan Miller," a handsome man with a nice taste in suit and a good handshake, "and Detective Jasper Jordan," another handsome man, with absolutely no style and no chill. He shoots forward and shakes their hands. 

"Right, well, I'm Special Agent Clarke Abigail Griffin. I'm the head of our department here. This is Special Agent Lincoln and Special Agent Monty Christopher Green," she says, gesturing to each of the two men. Lincoln doesn't move at all, but Monty does his usual coy and cute smile. 

"Why do you two have a middle name but this guy only gets assigned one name? What's that about?" Octavia interjects. Clarke's smile slowly fades by the young girl's antics. 

"Aha, and here comes our other Detective, I think he was talking to our Senior Medical Examiner, Maya Vie, about a new case that came up this weekend." 

Clarke hears the door shut and smells something familiar. She realizes it's his cologne right as she meets his eyes. Her heart stops. 

"What the hell is this?" Bellamy says, halting in his tracks. She realizes how interesting anything but Bellamy is. _Or anywhere near Bellamy. Nothing is interesting in that part of the room_ , she thinks as she glances at Kane. 

"It's just a meet and greet, Bell. They just want to make sure the locals aren't a bunch of hillbilly cops," Jasper laughs at Octavia's joke. Kane throws a quick glare at Jasper. 

"This is our Lead Detective, Bellamy Blake. Detective, this is Clarke, Lincoln and Monty." Clarke can feel his eyes on her. He hasn't stopped looking at her since he walked in. Did she have something on her face and no one told her? She glances at Lincoln; he can see that she's panicked but she knows he won't ask anything until they're in private. _Fucking greaaaaat_ , she thinks. 

"Bellamy, your phone’s on its third ring, are you going to get it?" Kane inquires. She snaps her gaze up to Bellamy and his focus breaks. 

"Uh. Right. No, Baywatch is still on. She doesn't stop calling until 10," Monty, Lincoln and Clarke all glance at each other. What does that even mean?

"Right, well, we're here to help," Clarke states, walking towards the desk that the ringing landline is on.

"You know, if you answer that, that makes you the Primary?" Octavia snickers. 

"Detective Squad, Agent Griffin." Bellamy's eyes are locked on hers. His head cocks just a tiny bit when she says her last name. 

"Yeah, hold on one second. Go ahead. You got it," Clarke says into the receiver. She pulls the phone away from her face to speak with Lincoln "Double homicide." 

"No. It's just Baywatch. There's no double homicide, you must have heard her wrong, she's old." Bellamy says, walking towards Clarke and taking the phone out of her hands. 

"Yeah, hi Mrs. Seymour, it's Bellamy."

" _Excuse me? It's Office Caldwell. When are you guys going to get here? It's pretty bad._ " Bellamy hears the man's voice over the phone. Clarke, Lincoln and Monty had already excused themselves from the room, taking their notes and the case with them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I love Murphy's character and his arcs in the show, please don't get me wrong. I totally recognize that I'm mocking him in this chapter and I hope all Murphy lovers will forgive me! I'm happy with it though!  
> *I'm really not good at sex scenes so I used a bit from movies I've seen and I know they don't talk like AT ALL but I'm doing my best OK? I'll probably read this next week and want to delete it, if it means anything.  
> *I know I didn't give Jasper much to say but he'll get more in other chapters, especially when related to Maya! :)


	3. Whatever The Hell We Want

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're continuing the case from the call Detective Bellamy Blake refused to take, that Special Agent Clark Griffin did. Detective Blake is reluctant to trust Agent Griffin's high-tech resources as he prefers the old-school police work and instinct that has lead him to success throughout his career.

Bellamy and Nathan walk up the steps to Bellamy’s childhood block. It’s even more decrepit than he remembers but this part of town hasn’t been doing well.  
  
“Is Owen still the landlord here?” he asks Miller.  
  
“I believe so. He was a witness on a case that happened here about a year ago. Something to do with a drug bust, I think.”  
  
“He would take just about anything for rent, we aren’t going to get much personal info off of him. He might even be our best suspect right now if these guys weren’t on time on rent or if they were giving him any problems. That should be the first person we talk to. We should check his deposits for the building and for any call ins to the police about noise complaints or harassment from their apartment number.”  
  
“Is this going to be a problem?” Nathan stops him before entering the front door of the building. Bellamy looks at the hand on his chest and then lightly glares at Miller before he removes said hand. “Octavia told me what your mom did for rent here. If there’s a conflict of interest, the last thing we need is you blowing up in front of our new FBI buddies. You know Kane will go apeshit, man.”  
  
“Ahem.” The two men start from the light cough behind them. They turn and see that Clarke’s standing there, pointedly looking at her cellphone. Bellamy still can’t believe she’s really here.  
  
“Hi Clarke, ahh Agent Clarke, Agent Griffin? We were on our way to the scene,” Miller stutters as he pulls open the door.  
  
“Of course, I wasn’t…I’ll just be inside,” she says with a nod in their direction. “And you can call me Clarke.”  
  
Miller quickly walks in behind her so he doesn’t have to deal with the intense glare Bellamy’s giving him. As he glares at the back of Miller’s head, he notices that Clarke is wearing a pair of black Mary Janes with chunky high heels and wonders how she managed to sneak up on them.  
  
_Well he’s definitely not going to want to talk to me now,_ Clarke thinks to herself on her way up the stairwell to the third floor. _Fantastic_.  
  
When they make it to the correct hall, they see Detectives Reyes and Jordan, and Agents Lincoln and Monty interviewing the witness, a young girl with a Papa Johnny’s uniform on.  
  
“I knocked several times. They would order pizza, like twice a week. On the last knock, the door opened a little bit and I could see the blood.”  
  
A uniform came to stand in front of Clarke to debrief them, “No sign of a weapon but we’ve got officers canvassing the neighborhood. This is Emily Haines, 20, she’s the one that called it in.”  
  
“Names for the victims?” Clarke inquires, even though she’s staring at the young girl.  
  
“She said they always pay cash but the Landlord said the rental agreement was in the name of a Bart Simpson. Also paid cash.”  
  
They continue to the girl as Lincoln asks her, “Did you see anyone coming in or going out?”  
  
“No. Yes? I mean, there were people in the building but none of them looked like they just _killed_ somebody.” Her voice breaks on the word.  
  
“Thank you. I’m Detective Nathan Miller, I’m going to take you to get a signed statement and some more information about how we can contact you,” Miller says as he gently shakes her hand.  
  
“I’m Special Agent Clarke Griffin,” Clarke says as she passes her. “If you have any questions or remember seeing anything at all, you can always call me on my personal line. If I’m not at the office, it will direct to my cell. We really appreciate your assistance, Emily.”  
  
Emily takes the business card Clarke is offering to her and thanks her. Miller escorts her down the hall, “How do you feel about milkshakes? The 24-hour diner is on the way to the precinct. We could stop, if you wanted?”  
  
Clarke notices Monty’s eyes linger on Miller as he walks away with the shaken girl. When his gaze is refocused on the group, he sees Clarke’s cocked eyebrow and smirk and rolls his eyes.  
  
“There’s so security cameras in the building or any of the nearby businesses, that’s a shame,” Lincoln says as he puts away his iPad.  
  
“Didn’t need them. Years ago, this was a decent crappy neighborhood. Things like this didn’t happen here,” Bellamy responds, locking eyes with the larger man.  
  
There’s a short moment of silence as Raven and Jasper make agreeing noises. Monty pulls some blue scraps of cloth out of his duffel and begins passing them out to the detectives and the agents, “You guys are welcome to wear these, to keep the site uncontaminated.”  
  
Raven rolls her eyes but accepts the booties and gloves. Jasper sees Lincoln blow up his glove to make it fit around his large hand and blows his up all the way, popping one of the fingers. Raven hits him in the back of the head. Bellamy refuses the offer and steps underneath the crime scene tape barring entrance to the door and assess the scene.  
  
“We’ve got two males, younger one likely in his early 20’s, shot while scrambling for the front door,” he says to himself as he steps around the first body. “This one, approximately thirty-five, shot at while still on the couch, was hit twice while moving towards this door,” he continues, noticing a myriad of bullet holes in the wall surrounding the couch. “A lot of bullets, a lot of blood, a lot of confusion. Messy, really messy. It means it was emotional. It also means, it was probably the killer’s first time.”  
  
“That’s certainly a possibility,” Lincoln interrupts him.  
  
Jasper stops furiously writing out Bellamy’s observations and his eyes snap up to the Agent.  
  
“What, you got a better theory?” Bellamy asks.  
  
“No. I have no theory at all,” Lincoln responds, cocking an eyebrow at the detective in confusion.  
  
Clarke steps in between the two men’s space and directs a response to Bellamy. “We don’t speculate when our forensics can provide a more definitive answer. Jasper, would you mind passing me the camera out of that bag please?”  
  
Jasper grabs the camera but on his way to passing it to her, is distracted by the playback screen on the camera as he turns it on for her. Bellamy turns his attention back to the man on the couch.  
  
“Well this guy’s still warm, I’m assuming that he’s been dead for about 2-3 hours,” Bellamy observes, touching the man’s neck around where his pulse would normally be.  
  
“It would probably be best if you didn’t touch anything without gloves,” Monty advises, crossing the room and handing Bellamy a pair of white gloves.  
  
“Clarke, is this you and Obama?” Jasper asks as Bellamy stubbornly puts on the gloves.  
  
“Oh…ah that’s…just a photo op,” Clarke answers and Bellamy notices her chest and cheeks begin to flush.  
  
Lincoln chuckles, which makes him curious about their personal relationship. They must have worked together for a while.  
  
Raven peeks over Jasper’s shoulder, curious, “You’re at an art gallery with the President for a photo op?”  
  
“That’s not just any art show, either. You should show them your work sometime, Clarke,” Lincoln adds.  
  
Before she could get any redder, Bellamy feels something lumpy in the mans’ pocket as he he pats down the body on the couch.  
  
“Oh, dead man’s wallet, means dead man’s name..” he says opening the wallet and finding nothing.  
  
Clarke looks relieved at the change of subject, “Alright well no worries. FBI lab will work on the DNA and in under 24 hours the facial recognition software will provide us with both names.”  
  
Suddenly there’s an influx of FBI technicians as Clarke pulls out a small medical examination kit, swabbing the body on the floor for DNA. This unfortunately causes her to bend over in a very sinful way in the skirt she’s wearing so Bellamy leaves the area to clear his head. How can he possibly be checking out her ass when there are two dead bodies in the room? He’s clearly fucked up. He entertains the thought as he almost trips over a piece of equipment that looks like a telescope but has a laser coming out of it.  
  
“It’s for 3D mapping,” Monty answers Bellamy’s silent question. “Clarke likes to take photos but I prefer the more advanced option.” He says under his breath to Bellamy with a small smile.  
  
Bellamy nods but is still frustrated by the turn of events. Raven follows him out of the small apartment and watches him pace in the hallway as she settles against the wall.  
  
“This is not the help that we needed. I told Kane we needed new equipment, we don’t need to be bailed out. We don’t need some robots from the NSA doing our jobs for us,” Bellamy grumbles.  
  
“Bellamy, you’re frustrated okay? It’s been a long day and I could tell since you walked in the door this morning that you had a bad weekend. What happened to you in DC, man?” Raven asks.  
  
Bellamy doesn’t answer. “They can identify those bodies in 24 hours?” He stops pacing and directs his attention to his previous partner. “We can do it in one, you and me. The old fashioned way, without photons and laser beams. IT’s just common sense Reyes, right? It’s just talking to people. You know this town. You know that nothing goes on at that end of the hall that the other end of the hall doesn’t know about,” he objects, pointing his fingers in one direction and then the other.  
  
“Okay,” she muses. They start walking to the first apartment on the floor and knocks on the door.  
  
\-----------------------  
  
Every resident offers them coffee or water or tea…but none give any helpful information. They were all either out getting groceries, taking a nap or watching television. Bellamy is beyond frustrated but he’s trying to piece the clues together.  
  
He and Raven get to the last apartment in the hallway and knock. Both hoping to get the vital information they’re missing from this house, but no one answers.  
  
“Bellamy, it was a good try, really. But maybe we should accept their technology more. We just wasted an hour doing work that a uniform could have done. I mean, it was fun to interview witnesses like that, just like the old days, but that’s not really what we’re supposed to be doing,” Raven notes.  
  
“What are you trying to say, Reyes?”  
  
“Listen, I talked to your sister on Sunday and she told me how great the training course went. After seeing these guys in action this morning, I decided to look into it myself and I sent out some emails. They want me to come in tomorrow for a 48 hour course myself. Kane already approved it,” She explains with a guilty look in her eyes. “I wanted us to find something, I really did. But something just isn’t right with this case and if we all took the training course, maybe we could see what it is.”  
  
Bellamy wants to be mad at her, but he also wants her to be happy. They’ve been friends since high school.  
  
“It’s fine Reyes. You should head to the office and get everything ready for your break. Are you going to blackmail or bribe us to do your paperwork?” He jokes, elbowing her in the side as they walk down the hallway together.  
  
She just laughs at him and waves to Clarke, who was once again silently watching him and his friend. She gives a small wave, too, and asks Bellamy what he found.  
  
“I spoke to every tenant on the floor and they had absolutely nothing to tell me.”  
  
Lincoln squats under a bunch of wires coming off of a pole that must be where they assume the gun was fired. It’s right in the living room, well past the front entrance of the apartment.  
  
“Ah, that’s a shame,” Lincoln says.  
  
Which told me quite a bit, actually. The people in this neighborhood have never been fans of the cops, and the fact that they were nice while telling me nothing tells me that it’s not about us, it’s about the crime,” he explains. “These people, they’re scared, yes, but I think that they’re really relieved that these guys are dead. I think that these guys were cooking meth, or PCP-“  
  
“2CP, actually,” Lincoln interrupts, an impressed look on his face.  
  
“Really?” Bellamy asks, recognizing the name but is distracted when Clarke smiles brightly at him. She, too, seems impressed by his deduction.  
  
“The gas chromatograph connected to this mass spectrometer detected several pictograms of phenethylamine,” she reveals, motioning her hand toward another telescope looking device. “Do you have any more theories?”  
  
“Yeah, well uh, I think the empty wallet was left to make us think that it was a simple robbery as opposed to a territorial dispute. We can get the vics’ names by running it through the DEA database and-“  
  
“Actually Bellamy, this is Gavin Smart and Trevor Thames,” Lincoln offered, pointing at each of the victims from the entrance of the room.  
  
Bellamy just nods.  
  
“So then, you don’t need me here?” Bellamy inquires. He’s done trying to impress them, he doesn’t know what he was thinking in the first place.  
  
“Well you’re welcome to stick around if you’d like, or you could head back to the office-“ Lincoln answers.  
  
“I could go with you, maybe we could stop for some coffee-“ Clarke interjects but Bellamy’s already headed down the hallway.  
  
“I’ll be at the office.” Bellamy gruffs without pausing to look back at her. He understands that if she wanted him to know who she was after their night together, she would have given him a way to contact her. He doesn’t need for her to let him down easily at the local Starbucks. He’s an adult.  
  
\----------------------------  
  
Bellamy’s been at the office, waiting for _anyone_ to call him, filing reports, for the past few hours when suddenly he hears Octavia’s voice coming from outside of the hallway. He turns around, eager to ask her about the call she was on this morning when he notices that she’s walking in with Agent Lincoln. She’s very animated and he knows exactly the look on her face – he’s been able to recognize it since she was 7 and N’Sync became famous.  
  
“Maya said she could have a workup done on the bile they found but I would really appreciate any input you want to give me. I’m afraid I might get a little too involved in this case. A young girl taken advantage of like that deserves justice and I don’t want to let her down,” she explains to the larger man.  
  
“Have you taken a break at all today? You look like you might need some food,” he asks. Bellamy can’t believe he’s about to ask her out to lunch while she talks about the dead girl his sister is investigating.  
  
“I just feel like I can’t stop working on this case for a break, you know? I’m trying to schedule a time to talk to her parent’s but they have so much to do with the funeral. I feel terrible,” she says, sitting down at her desk and collecting the notes she took at the autopsy.  
  
“Here, have this protein bar. I brought it for my work out later but I think you might need it more. A healthy body creates a healthy mind. I’ll leave you to your research, but if there’s anything I can do to help, I’ll be across the hall with Clarke. I think she wants to take point on the case we’re working on,” Lincoln says as he heads out the office doors.  
  
_Take point on my case,_ Bellamy thinks. He’s impressed that Lincoln didn’t actually ask Octavia out, and simply tried to help her get some food. Then he feels bad because it’s his sister that wasn’t eating anything.  
  
Kane breaks Bellamy and Octavia’s separate focuses and calls him into his office. Now that Octavia notices him in the office she offers a smile. “Hey big brother.”  
  
“Hey, if you want something after that protein bar, I left those eclairs on the kitchen counter in there.”  
  
She smiles but responds “thanks but I think this will do. Apparently I need a healthy body for a healthy mind.” She jokes, but the joke only frustrates him more.  
  
“Bellamy, just the man I needed to see,” Kane starts. “The FBI has provided us with a completed and detailed report. Interesting stuff, it’s quite the read.” Kane says as he hands the file to Bellamy. “It’s very nice of them to pass it on.”  
  
“Nice?” Bellamy says as he skims through the document. It’s really detailed and really hard to hate, but he does this best. “I mean, seeing as they’re supposed to be here to help us, don’t they sort of have to keep us in the loop?”  
  
“No Bellamy, they don’t, since they’re leading the investigation.”  
  
“It’s not their jurisdiction,” Bellamy says, standing up to pace some more.  
  
“Well, Clarke did answer the phone,” Kane says with a soft voice. Bellamy stops midstep and looks to Kane.  
  
“What is it?” Bellamy inquires, he can tell Kane is about to give him news he won’t like.  
  
“Agent Griffin is requesting someone team up with her for this case,” Kane begins.  
  
“No. I won’t do it. I have other cases to go through,” he bluffs. There’s a small cold case file that he’s made headway in, but he feels like he’s read them all too many times and has lost focus. He would still rather read over those again though than deal with her rejection.  
  
“Bellamy, it’s not a request, it’s an order,” Kane dismisses. “Not only did the FBI gain jurisdiction on this case by taking lead, but they’re also here to help us Bellamy. I’m going to tell you once, and I don’t want to have to suspend you because of your temper. Do not do anything inappropriate while you work with Clarke Griffin. She has connections that are helping our town and our department with the resources that YOU so effectively complained there was a lack of. If you make me look bad, there will be repercussions.”  
  
\------------------------  
  
Bellamy grabs his gun from the desk drawer to go out on the field with Clarke. If he was going out there with her shimmying skirts and her high heels, he was at least going to be prepared to do any physical work that may be required to protect them.  
  
He met her in the hallway separating their office’s on the floor and walked past her down the stairs. She immediately followed.  
  
“So Octavia is the innocent young sister you were worried about sending to DC alone?”  
  
“I never said she was innocent, Clarke.” He heard her footsteps stop. He just realized he hadn’t actually ever called her by her first name since they met.  
  
“Why did you assign me to this case, Clarke?” He asks. She had continued following him down the stairs but she was startled by the anger in his eyes when he looked at her as he asked the question.  
  
“They told me you were good.”  
  
“No, they didn’t. They told you I was a pain the ass. So what are we doing here?” He asks as he holds the front door to the precinct open for her. She starts towards the parking lot where her brand new, black FBI custom SVU is parked right in the front, with two others.  
  
“I had my office compile a list of everyone with a local address who’s ever been charged with dealing, local possession, or who has been hospitalized with drug-related issues,” she explains, handing him a thick stack of paper kept together with nice metal bindings. Each page with a different person’s personal information. He flipped through it quickly but knew it would take the entire day with her to find just a few of these people.  
  
“Right. Well there’s one name on this list that we need to talk to. That’s the two victim’s main distributor. He’s the one that knows their business.”  
  
“I think there’s something else we need to talk about Bellamy.” She says, softly. By habit, he’s gone to the driver’s side to let her in her car door. This is the closest they’ve been since Saturday morning, intertwined in bed together. He feels like an idiot for thinking that she would have wanted to meet with him in the future, feels ashamed for considering essentially stalking this poor girl. He looks into her eyes and all he sees is regret. He’s inches away from this woman that gave him a fantastic night and he just wants to be miles away from her.  
  
“Listen, we don’t need to have that talk. As far as I’m concerned, I had a great time with a stranger on Friday night. I don’t know why I would talk to my FBI Agent counterpart about what I did on my personal time.” He surmises, harshly. Opening the door wide when she tries to create a retort.  
  
She nods once, and steps into the car. He closes the door and walks to the passenger side.  
  
“So, which person in that list is the distributor?” She asks, everything is official again. He can work with this.  
  
“Your office couldn’t figure that out? I have no idea,” she looks at him, now _she’s_ the angry one. _Well if I have to be miserable working with her, she can be miserable, too,_ he thinks. “But I’m sure there are some people who know who he is. Princess, the thing about people is that they are completely untrustworthy. The people on this list are going to tell you exactly, nothing.”  
  
“Actually Detective Blake, in my experience, when you trust people, they trust you,” she explains, as if she’s talking to a child.  
  
“Have you actually met…people?” he asks her, completely serious. He looks for a response and she just rolls her eyes. “Let’s go talk to John Murphy. He’s been picked up for petty theft and a few minor drug charges, but he’s practically harmless. You’ve got access to some funds right? We’ll do things the Arcadia Police way and see how you like it. How does that sound?”  
  
She gives him a sharp look, “what exactly does that entail?”  
  
“Well Princess, when the Arcadia Police get desperate, we do just about whatever the hell we want.”  
  
\--------------------------------------------------  
  
“What’s with Agent Provocateur over here?” Murphy asks, smirking as he looks Clarke up and down suggestively.  
  
“Knock it off Murphy. I told you inside, you’re here to snitch, so let’s get to it. He said to go to 5th and Brazos,” Clarke ignores Murphy’s cat calls and types it into her GPS and beings driving. “There’s a small grocery store that the distributor hangs around and meets with his customers to confirm shipment.”  
  
“I’m not a snitch,” Murphy speculates after a few moments of silence in the car.  
  
“Your name is Murphy the Snitch,” Bellamy replies, looking out the window.  
  
“My name is not Murphy the Snitch,” Murphy replies.  
  
“Yeah, but we call you that. And we call you that for a good reason, because your name is Murphy and we pay you to snitch.” Clarke eyes Murphy in the rearview mirror. Something must have caught her attention.  
  
“John, if you’re not comfortable doing this, it’s ok,” she says, attempting to soothe him.  
  
Bellamy’s head whips towards her. “Seriously, Princess?”  
  
“Detective Blake, I’m not exactly comfortable using the FBI’s wallet to pay a common criminal for information,” at that Murphy scoffs, probably offended that she only deems him a common criminal. They arrive at the street corner, overlooking 5 men standing outside of the market place across the block.  
  
“Murphy, you brought us all the way out here, which one is it?” Bellamy demands.  
  
“It’s the short Hispanic. Right there,” Murphy answers.  
  
“They’re all Hispanic, Murphy.”  
  
“No, that’s racist. Anyways it’s Omar, the short guy in the Armani shirt on the right.” Bellamy looks confused.  
  
After a moment, Clarke opens the door, “Armani shirt, right there.” Before Bellamy even takes off his seatbelt, she’s stomping across the street.  
  
He races to catch up and grabs her arm. She yanks it out of his grasp, waiting for traffic to stop to continue crossing.  
  
“I think you get lucky, Princess. Not because you trust people, but because you’re just beautiful. But then as people get to know you, I think your luck runs out and you get in over your head. Which is how you ended up in Arcadia and not a better, newer office in Washington or New York, or even Miami…” he theorizes. He assesses the situation across the street from them as they wait to cross, deciding how to get Omar away from the other dealers to talk.  
  
She rolls her eyes. “I go where I can help, Bellamy.”  
  
“Oh yeah?” he asks, but is silenced when the crosswalk turns green and she stomps across that street, too. Apparently intent on getting them killed.  
  
_She’s pretty fast for being so short and walking on heels,_ he notes.  
  
“Omar, excuse me, we have a couple of questions for you,” she loudly requests, gaining the audience of all of the men on the street corner, and some patrons of the grocery store inside. Bellamy catches up and stares them down, his right hand on his holster, preparing to push her out of the way in case anyone brings out any fire power. Florida is notorious for shoot outs.  
  
“Of course ma’am, I’m always eager to please and assist officers in anyway-“ he says before bursting into a full speed sprint down the street. Clarke is quick to respond and gives chase in her heels, surprising him and the men around him.  
  
“Please, we just want to ask you some questions!” Clarke shouts as she runs, turning into a tight alley after Omar.  
  
“Stop, she trusts you Omar,” Bellamy laughs as he catches up to her, making the next corner with her.  
  
Omar slides across the hood of a parked car and just as Bellamy is about to run around the car, past Clarke, she jumps onto the hood and leaps onto Omar’s back, tackling him to the ground.  
  
“Damn girl,” Omar pants, underneath Clarke and facing the pavement. “Nobody saw that did they?”  
  
“You know it’s illegal to run from the police, right?” She retorts, catching her breath.  
  
“How do you run like that in those shoes?” Bellamy asks, astonished.  
  
She presses herself up and allows Omar to sit up. Bellamy offers Omar and hand and directs him to the alley way to sit down.  
  
“I have an excellent cobbler,” she responds.  
  
“What?” Bellamy asks, still reeling from the sight of Clarke sprinting after a perp with heels and skirt. It was almost cute if it wasn’t mildly terrifying.  
  
“A shoemaker. I have an excellent shoemaker,” she clarifies and Bellamy rolls his eyes.  
  
“We know you work for Trevor Thames, Omar,” Bellamy starts.  
  
“Never heard of him,” Omar states, glaring at Bellamy. “You can’t arrest me for not knowing some guy.”  
  
“He’s dead, Omar.” Clarke is startled by the emotion Omar gives when he’s given this news. The cocky young man being questioned by the police is now just a man at a friend’s funeral. She’s seen this type of man too many times to count. She’s even been him.  
  
“What? How?” he asks, his voice cracking.  
  
“He had a negative reaction to a bullet going through his head,” Bellamy answers. Clarke steps in front of Bellamy and pushes him back. Bellamy’s eyes never leave Omar, assuming he’s going to run again, but Clarke knows this isn’t the truth.  
  
“Oh God,” Omar lets out, beginning to cry.  
  
“Detective Blake, I need you to stop harassing this man. Give him a break.”  
  
Bellamy pushes back against her, starting towards Omar again, “When was the last time you spoke to him or Gavin Smart?”  
  
Omar’s head jerks towards Bellamy, “Gavin?” His voice rises.  
  
“Yup.”  
  
“Oh God.”  
  
Clarke quits trying to keep Bellamy away from Omar and instead goes to kneel in front of him.  
  
“Omar, you have to be strong,” she says, putting a hand on his shoulder.  
  
“Clarke, give it a rest, the kid’s a drug dealer,” Bellamy interjects.  
  
“So he does something wrong and he deserves to die?” Clarke asks, fury written on her face when she looks at him.  
  
Bellamy’s surprised but it doesn’t throw him off from getting the information they need. Babying this kid isn’t going to keep a killer off the streets. “Omar, you can cry tomorrow, ok? But right now we need the names of Trevor’s suppliers and anyone that he might have sold drugs to. Especially anyone that was infringing on his territory.”  
  
“Go to hell,” Omar responds. Bellamy hits the brick wall above where they’re sitting, startling Omar and Clarke, both.  
  
“You got caught with six rocks in your pocket Omar, what makes you think I’m not going to make your life miserable, huh?” Bellamy threatens, tired of the kid’s antics.  
  
“No, we’re not going to make your life miserable,” Clarke chides. “Listen, Omar, we know you have a cellphone. And thanks to the NSA data collection, we will be able to get the names of every person you’ve ever called or has called you and I’m guessing that one of those names is probably the person that we’re looking for,” Clarke reasons. Bellamy stares at her, he’s never seen anyone manipulate a perp into confessing information successfully and is curious to if bluffing like this will work.  
  
“I’m also guessing that many of those people, who we’re going to have to talk to- at length - had absolutely nothing to do with this crime and probably don’t even know that you’re involved with the drug trade….” Clarke continues, taking her hand off of his shoulder and standing up next to Bellamy. “People like your sister, your mother, your grandma…”  
  
Omar lets out a big sigh, “Carl Emerson. He’s some guy that works with a cleaning supply manufacturing company. He’s rich but he’s paranoid. I’ve never even seen him in person.”  
  
“Okay, that’s great. Listen, we’re going to take the long way back to our car. You should probably lay low for a few days and tell anyone that asks that you got away. You can even tell people you punched this asshole in the face. But you won’t want to tell anyone that you talked to us, do you understand? Not a single person.”  
  
Omar nods, eyes still watery but looking surprised that he’s not getting arrested.  
  
Clarke takes Bellamy’s hand and guides him down the alley. Bellamy reluctantly walks with Clarke out of the alley and in the opposite direction of the car.  
  
Bellamy looked astounded.  
  
“That was brilliant. NSA? That’s insane. You completely sold it.”  
  
“I don’t believe in bluffing,” Clarke answers, nonchalant.  
  
“You actually have access to the NSA database?” Bellamy inquires.  
  
She responds with a light “hmm” but doesn’t actually acknowledge the question. “I’m gonna get a warrant to search Carl Emerson’s home.”  
  
He laughs. “I don’t think so. The fact that a corner dealer says this guy’s name isn’t exactly evidence…”  
  
But she’s already dialing.  
  
“Good afternoon, Judge Wallace. Do you have a moment? It’s Agent Griffin.”  
  
Bellamy can hear the older man on the other line greet Clarke and introduce his son, Cage Wallace over the phone. He notices Clarke roll her eyes when Cage is mentioned.  
  
“Yes, it was nice meeting him as well. I’ve called you Judge Wallace- oh Dante, of course, because we need to obtain a warrant to search the home of one Carl Emerson.”  
  
\-------------  
  
“Did something break the case? How is there a search going on tonight when you didn’t even have the gun this morning? Did you find the gun?” Raven yells over the phone. She’s stuck in a terminal in Miami and has been for the past two hours. He feels bad for Wick, who agreed to accompany her on the boldface lie that he had contacts in DC that he’d like to touch base with. Probably over poker.  
  
“Clarke isn’t even real. She tackled a guy and convinced him to give up his contacts in under thirty minutes. You better learn something more than what they taught Octavia over the weekend while you’re there because these agents are on mental steroids or something. She called Judge Wallace and I think his son asked her on a date over the phone?! I mean what the hell is that?”  
  
“Bellamy, Bellamy, slow down. Are you more upset that she’s better at getting a confession than you or that you like her?”  
  
“Reyes, don’t start with me right now,”  
  
“Hey don’t yell at me. I could see the tension coming off of you guys as soon as you walked in the room. Octavia told me you constantly look at the other office searching for someone and it’s obvious because the other office is on the opposite side of the room from where your desk faces. She thinks it’s because you’re going to make an attempt on Lincoln’s life but I’m not an idiot.” Well she wasn’t wrong, he had looked over to her side of the office earlier that day but it was definitely not to look for Clarke.  
  
“You’re delusional Reyes. I’m just….I’m just a small time cop. I’m starting to see things clearly now. It’s not their cars or the mass chemigraphy pictogram things, or the judges on speed dial. It’s everything she’s doing. She’s naïve and simplistic and it works. Maybe I should just try to learn from them. If she’s just plain better than me, then why do I hate her so much? And why am I so desperate to prove that I’m better than her?”  
  
“Solve this case, Blake. You’ll feel better,” she says. “And don’t ever vent to me without alcoholic compensation again,” she says before hanging up.  
  
He looked around the empty office. Everyone else had gone home, already. But this case could open up at any time since Clarke arrived. He could see her now, through the window of his office and past the glass walls of hers, typing furiously on her keyboard. Suddenly she looked up and locked eyes with him. He turned away quickly, embarrassed that he was caught staring. She probably thought he was checking her out. He was really just cursing her work ethic, he wanted to go have a drink with his sister and his friends but her relentless determination kept her here, too.  
  
Okay, he might have thought it was an appealing quality but anyone could be that determined if they wanted to.  
  
“Blake, we’ve got Emerson in custody but he came voluntarily and with his attorney,” Clarke said softly, entering the office.  
  
He nodded and got up.  
  
“I think I know what happened to you,” Bellamy begins, matching her pace on the stairs to the interview room. “You were brought up with two parents, a dog that never died, right? Your dad never lost a job. You got accepted to the first college you applied to. Like, nothing bad ever happened to you.”  
  
As Bellamy finishes his theory, he glances at Clarke. No emotion shows on her face but her eyes are filled with a sort of quiet anger. He continues, hoping to crack her.  
  
“You can’t be a cop and be this naïve, it’s just not possible.”  
  
“I agree,” she says lowly. They get to the interview room door and she opens it without hesitation, letting it close behind her as she enters the room.  
  
He pauses, startled by her honesty and mystery. Did she just confirm his suspicion that her team was sent here as punishment for something or was she clarifying that her entire act today had been a ruse, that she was actually more pessimistic than she appeared?  
  
He entered the room and saw that she actually looked kind of tired, compared to when they had started the day. He realized just then that he’d only spend one day with her, her first day her.  
  
“Can we get you some coffee or tea, Mr. Emerson?” She said, before he let the guilt for how rough he had been with her settle in.  
  
“Yeah, if you’d like, we can have one of our interns grab you a mocha chunky latte Frappuccino from Starbucks. Why don’t you just tell us what you’re here to tell us,” Bellamy says abruptly.  
  
She quirks her eyebrow, clearly tired of his bad cop routine. Then the guilt he felt washed away because he’s always been this way, this bad cop. Why was he suddenly feeling bad for something that got so many criminals put in prison, where they’re supposed to be? Where this man sitting in front of him should be? He realizes then that she really is just naïve and that her team must have been sent here as punishment. At that moment, he vows to enlighten the rest of the squad and figure out what their secrets are without the agents knowing.  
  
“My client came here tonight to discuss a horrible tragedy that happened to two young men. He didn’t come here to be berated.” Cage Wallace begins. His face pale and his cheeks hollow. His suit was pretty nice though. Bellamy glanced down at his own white button up and black slacks. Just another day making a low pay while Wallace got bad men out of their prison sentences.  
  
“Please Mr. Emerson, any information you have will be helpful and treated with due respect,” Clarke assuages.  
  
“I hated Trevor,” the other sharply dressed man says, keeping his eyes sharply on Clarke. Even though she might look a little tired from the day, she was still a Helen of Troy contestant. “He lacked business acumen. The kid couldn’t have been all that sharp either or else he wouldn’t be working with him. But I suppose that I should add that I didn’t kill them.”  
  
He glances at Cage and the two men stand suddenly.  
  
“That’s all my client wishes to relay to you at this time, he says, shaking hands with Clarke and ushering Carl Emerson out of the room.  
  
“He’s lying,” Bellamy says quietly.  
  
“Or he’s telling the truth. We found nothing in the raid,” Clarke says, putting her hands on her temples and massaging gently.  
  
“Which is consistent with two things, innocence and guilt,” She looks up and turns to him. “Look you kill someone, the first thing you do dis you start scrubbing everything in your life.”  
  
“Well, I’ve got additional warrants in his office.”  
  
“You’re not going to find anything there either,” he argues.  
  
“Then we’ll keep looking until we find something.”  
  
“No, we don’t find anything, we don’t get handed anything. Anything we get we make from nothing. We’re going to do it the Arcadia Police way.”  
  
“Whatever the hell we want?”  
  
“You got it, Princess.”


	4. Catching a Killer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke and Bellamy deal with their unresolved feelings differently while solving the murders of Gavin Smart and Trevor Thames, two drug dealers found shot dead in their apartment. 
> 
> Octavia investigates a case about a girl who OD'd on a new drug on the street and Agent Lincoln helps her track the girl's family down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter of what would be episode 1 of Battle Creek! I used a lot of loose variations of the quotes from Battle Creek and The 100. I hope you'll be able to see them! :)

Her night with Bellamy had been inspiring. She was never one for one-night stands, but after the day she had saying goodbye to her friends and her mother in Washington, she needed a drink and was ready to make rash decisions. The decision to leave DC was hard enough as it was.  
  
The decision to ask him to come home with her was easy. His small smiles, sinful eyes and confidence made her wet just chatting with him. He wasn’t the type she normally went for, she liked more effeminate men when she wasn’t so busy liking women. She enjoyed people that were boastful and impressive. He just had a dark and angsty aura and that mixed with the old-fashioned she favored made for a serious aphrodisiac. He wasn’t supposed to be gentle and interesting, muddling everything she knew about sex and tenderness.  
  
She kissed him goodbye after lying in bed with him too long. She was a woman on a mission. She couldn’t be distracted by someone living who knows where in this country.  
  
She left a note with Lincoln’s number in the bathroom, took the photo on her dresser and left the apartment for good.  
  
And then her luck caught up to her. She moved her office here to follow the international travels of her mother. She brought Monty because he was the smartest Agent she knew and the best hacker she’d heard of. She brought Lincoln because he could track anything, be it a person or a trail of lies. They’d agreed because they were her friends and they knew that she would shine a spotlight on the corruption that got her father killed, and her mother along with Secretary of Defense, Thelonious Jaha, promoted.  
  
She met Dante Wallace on shaky legs. Her skin must have been flushed and radiant from the night with Bellamy because his son, Cage, couldn’t keep his eyes off of her. She met the mayor and his brother and Kane. She surveyed the office and set up her new, state of the art flat. She felt like she was back at Quantico, with her best friends as her roommates.  
  
Then she met the Detective Squad she’d be working with. Monty offered to take over each department’s technological advances and Lincoln wanted to work specifically with physically challenging the local police and the Detective Squad so they wouldn’t have to rely on their dated gear. So she accepted Kane’s request to hone the Detective Squads skills. Most of them were a little corrupt or dishonest or simply dated with their police work. They solved cases, but they did more harm than good sometimes.  
  
Then she saw him. Her world wasn’t flipped upside down. Time didn’t stop. It wasn’t even that funny. But he evaded her and avoided her and it pissed her off. When she tried to talk to him, she found that he was rude and pushy. So she took the lead on the case and watched him flail around Monty and Lincoln. She couldn’t believe this man was the same one she met just days before, with a tender touch and gentle kisses and somehow completely rough and sensual. He wasn’t the same at all. This is why she didn’t do one-night stands. This is why she didn’t date co-workers.  
  
Earlier in the day, when she announced that they were walking the streets, she saw him grab his gun, badge and handcuffs from the desk and was instantly taken back to the night on the counter with her hands tied behind her back. _His tongue had teased between her lips, coaxing her to pen her mouth and accept his kiss. He used his tongue to stroke against hers so sensuously, quelling her need to get free. She never expected being tied up to be so erotic, and his touch was gentle and hot on her skin. He groaned against her mouth when he had found how wet she was. Her nipples throbbed against her lacy bra.  
  
She cried out when he fastened his lips around one of her nipples and sucked the peak inside his mouth, licking it there, making her moan. She thought he might make her climax just from his insistent suckling, until she noticed that he was touching himself, and it almost pushed her over the edge. And that was before he even ran his fingertip along her sex. _  
  
She shook her head, she was too distracted. She had to talk to him about it though, they couldn’t let it go unspoken about. So she confronted him and he completely shut her down. He obviously didn’t want to mix business with pleasure and she wasn’t even sure she wanted to, either, considering he was so different than what she assumed he was like from the night they shared. He wasn’t gentle, he was aggressive. He wasn’t wholesome, he was absolutely broken.  
  
But he was a good cop. He was arrogant and rebellious but she had her own terrible qualities. She liked to manipulate people and she could tell he saw that immediately.  
  
They sat in the interview room together for a moment after Emerson left. He loosened his tie under the pressure. He had just unloaded that he planned to break the rules, making her glad she saw Kane leave hours ago, because otherwise she’d be worried that he’d be behind the one-sided glass. But he’s not. They’re alone here, except for the night officers on the first and second floor and probably a janitor somewhere.  
  
“He’s lying,” Bellamy says quietly, breaking the silence. 

“Or he’s telling the truth. We found nothing in the raid,” Clarke says, putting her hands on her temples and massaging gently. She refuses to look at him in the mirror-like glass. He’s too attractive and it’s too dark, it’s too much like the bar she met him in.

“Which is consistent with two things, innocence and guilt. Look you kill someone, the first thing you do dis you start scrubbing everything in your life,” she follows his logic and wonders where he’s going with this little speech. 

“Well, I’ve got additional warrants in his office.”

“You’re not going to find anything there either,” he argues.

“Then we’ll keep looking until we find something.” All they do is argue. _He’s so frustrating!_

“No, we don’t find anything, we don’t get handed anything. Anything we get we make from nothing. We’re going to do it the Arcadia Police way.”

“Whatever the hell we want?”

“You got it, Princess.”  
  
_Two can play at this game Blake,_ she thinks, she knows exactly where he’s going when he steps out of the room. She’s ahead of him on the chessboard and chuckles to herself.  
  
\----------------------------  
  
“This is legal?” Emily says, they pulled her out of the pizza joint while doing closing duties. She came extremely willingly.  
  
“We can’t lie in court, and we can’t lie to judges. But we can’t lie to lawyers. And we lie all the time to drug dealers and murderers. Third guy from the left, Emily. That’s all you gotta say.”  
  
Clarke sits in the back of the room. They’re back in the Detective Squad office, it’s completely empty. Emily is sitting at Bellamy’s desk and he’s sitting in Detective Reyes’ chair next to her. She watches him sit closer to Emily, leaning his thick forearms against his knees to get lower, getting on her level. When you want to control a room, you want Bellamy’s height. But when you want to sway an opinion or view on ethics, you want to be at eye level with the person you’re talking to. She smiles to herself, realizing that he’s got much more credibility in this game than she accounted for.  
  
“So you want me to ID him and say that I saw him running out?” Emily asks, shifting her eyes between Bellamy and Clarke nervously.  
  
“We need him to believe that we have evidence against him, which means that we need his lawyer to believe that we have evidence against him. Then the DA will offer a plea and he’ll take it and he’ll go to jail. Not because you lied, but because he’s guilty for killing those men,” he explains. “He’s the real criminal here and he’ll walk free unless we stop him.”  
  
“Is the DA okay with this?” Emily inquires.  
  
“Well, we can’t lie to the DA either so we haven’t told her. But it doesn’t matter, because this is not evidence so it’s never going to go to trial.”  
  
“I’m sorry, I can’t do this,” Emily says, shaking her head.  
  
“Emily, we need your help,” Clarke says as she steps out of the shadows. She feels Bellamy’s eyes on her as she walks towards Emily. “It’s simple. He’s already been exposed as a criminal, we just need your help in getting him to admit to it.”  
  
\-----------------  
  
“The third guy from the left,” Emily states with confidence. She’s staring at Carl Emerson from behind the two-way mirror.  
  
“You’re absolutely sure?” Cage Wallace asks. He looks tired, his pale skin sulky but his hair is perfectly gelled, his beady eyes focused on Emily.  
  
“Third guy from the left,” she says, her eyes never leaving his face.  
  
“Shall we talk?” Roma asks Cage as she escorts him out of the room. She’d met the attorney her first weekend here but her countenance was different when it came to Bellamy. Not that she was surprised, he’s familiar to her, but it was affectionate. Like they shared a private joke and a history.  
  
She read too much into it, _everyone here has history_.  
  
\-------------------------  
  
Bellamy and Clarke take Emily back down the stairs to his office as they wait for the two attorneys to negotiate.  
  
They leave her sitting at his desk and stand in the doorway, waiting for the attorneys to come downstairs with a consensus.  
  
“This is why I wanted to work with you. Couple of drug dealers – who cares if they’re dead, who cares who killed them?” Clarke asks Bellamy. “Streets are better off without them right? Indifference. Indifference leads to more indifference. Anger leads to more anger and Killing leads to more killing. You know that. And you are willing to risk your career in order to help save your community.” She’s trying to find what he believes.  
  
“That’s a little dramatic, Clarke,” he smirks to himself.  
  
“There’s no guarantee that this is going to work,” Clarke counters.  
  
Bellamy shakes his head. “Roma’s good. She’ll get him to take a plea.” His eyes meet hers.  
  
“So, you’ve worked with Roma before,” she noticed their rapport, old friends, possible exes.  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“So, I’m guessing you’ve crossed her before,” she says, as many cops struggle with positive relationships with their DA’s.  
  
“Uh, yeah, probably, at some point,” she can see the wheels turning in his head. Apparently, whatever the hell we want means he hadn’t really thought it that far through.  
  
“So what happens when she comes down those stairs and for whatever reason they didn’t take the deal?” She asks. She isn’t enjoying how his eyes fall. She didn’t want to rely on them taking a deal, she believes in firm evidence and strong convictions to criminals. But she wants to understand how Bellamy thinks. “I mean, Roma’s going want to press charges anyways, she’s got a great case, a great witness.” She pauses. “Except she doesn’t. Now, what’s she going do when you tell her that?”  
  
He’s silent.  
  
She continues, “I know that you’ve thought about this, you analyze everything. And you did it anyway.”  
  
He’s about to respond when Cage Wallace and Carl Emerson hastily make their way down the stairs. Neither meets Clarke’s eyes. It’s nice not to have to fake smile at him for once, she decided very quickly from meeting him that she didn’t like the privileged, cocky man.  
  
Roma follows, as Clarke knew she would. “No deal, his client insists that he’s innocent.” Clarke scoffs at the term. In all of their eyes, even if he didn’t take out a hit on the two drug dealers, he was still a criminal.  
  
Bellamy pushes off the wall and takes a separate exit outside. Clarke grabs Emily and follows Bellamy out the side exit and into the night, curious. 

\---------------------  
  
He sees his shitty truck and stalks to it.  
  
“Fuck” he says under his breath. He leans against the truck, eyeing the bar down the street.  
  
“Bellamy?” It’s Clarke’s voice, penetrating the night. He was suddenly ashamed of his truck for some reason.  
  
He rolls his eyes and is about to take it out on her instead when he sees Emily with her, looking nervous, like she got caught doing something bad. He knows the feeling. Emily holds back, next to another car in the parking lot as Clarke walks to Bellamy.  
  
“So I just spoke to Roma and your commander.”  
  
“You did what? Why would you do that?” Is Clarke going to fuck him and fire him in the same week?  
  
“They’re angry, but not at you. I just explained that the whole thing was my idea.”  
  
“You lied?!”  
  
“No, I supported the idea. We’re both responsible for this,” he turns from her and leans against the truck again, confused by her manipulations. _What is her endgame?_  
  
“So you lied for me? And what, now I owe you? Is that what this is about Princess?” he turns to her and walks up to her, as close as he can. He says as low as he can, “is this payback? For Friday night? I don’t need your help you know.”  
  
For the first time since this morning, she looks shocked, then angry again. “I’d like to think that if the situation were reversed, you would do the same thing for me,” She says, keen to meet his gaze. He feels instant regret for bringing it up, he must be more hurt by her actions than the though, when they both jerk their heads at the sound of squealing tires. It’s just past two in the morning, they’re either drunk or they have an agenda.  
  
Gunshots ring out in the night. Close. He goes to push Clarke to the ground but she’s already tackling Emily behind a car. There are bullet holes in the car Emily was leaning against.  
  
He whips his head around to check the plates of the car, but feels a pinch and a hot burn in his shoulder.  
  
He’s bent over against his truck, which is out a windshield now, and he sees Clarke running towards him.  
  
“Emily, stay down! Bellamy, are you okay?” He feels her grab his burning shoulder and touch the front and back of it. He must be okay because she runs in the direction of the car, removing a gun from a holster in her blazer. She makes out two shots and he hears the tires squeal, she must have gotten a tire.  
  
He hears her call for backup before he loses consciousness.  
  
\----------------------------  
  
He wakes up in a hospital bed, with Octavia sleeping on his arm, cutting off the circulation. His shoulder throbs and his arm is in a sling.  
  
“Hey!” she exclaims when he moves his arm from the pain.  
  
“Hey.”  
  
“Clarke said you’re lucky, when the paramedics arrived, she had you in a tourniquet and found that the bullet passed right through, no arteries hit. So you’re gonna be fine.”  
  
“That’s great.”  
  
“She said your witness is in a safe house. Monty’s tracking down the vehicle but since there’s no plates, it might not be found. Lincoln sent you flowers,” she says as she happily motions towards some orchids on the windowsill in the beige room.  
  
“Slow down O,” he says laughing to himself. Clearly turning her against the agents would be harder than he thought. Laughing hurts his chest and arm.  
  
“Does it hurt?”  
  
“I’m fine. You should go home and get some rest.”  
  
“Bellamy, you need the rest. You were at work until 3 yesterday. You got shot and you’re telling me I need rest. Okay, mom.”  
  
“I’m serious O. They’ll probably just keep me until the doctor gets here in the morning. I’ll see you at work.”  
  
Octavia looked like she was going to argue. She always tells him he works too much, but she’s interrupted when Lincoln walks through the doors.  
  
“Detective Blake, hi Octavia,” he says, smiling at them. Lincoln and Octavia being staring at each other so hard he’s not sure if they realize he’s still in the room. His hospital room. Where he’s being held because he was shot.  
  
“Ahem. Yeah, what’s going on Agent Lincoln?” Bellamy starts, sitting up. “I’m surprised to see you here at, what, six in the morning.”  
  
“Oh, don’t get up on my behalf. Clarke sent me to check on you.”  
  
“Have they found the gun yet? Any word on the drive by?” Bellamy inquires.  
  
“No plates and no videos of the car getting away. We’re stuck so far. But Emily is at the safe house, you should come by when you’re feeling better.”  
  
“Oh my gosh Bell, you’ll love it. There’s a false door and Clarke’s room has this amazing view of the lake. It’s so beautiful.”  
  
“You went to the safe house, O?”  
  
“Well, yeah. I was there earlier. With Lincoln and Monty. We were all at the new training facility when Monty said he’d rather just go unpack his stuff, so I helped them get settled into their house. I needed a break from my case. I’m doing family interviews tomorrow. Or, today I guess?”  
  
He glanced at Lincoln and almost glared. The man looked a little awkward but not as awkward as Bellamy felt.  
  
“Anyways, I should head back. Octavia, do you need a ride? I know Clarke had a patrol car pick you up.”  
  
Octavia shot up. “Are you sure you want me to go home, Bell? I can stay, I’d be happy to stay,” she offered as she started walking towards the door with Lincoln.  
  
Bellamy just rolls his eyes and sits back into his bed again. “I’ll see you tomorrow. You better drive safely Agent.” Bellamy says, as stern as he can without sounding like a total asshole.  
  
He rolls onto his good side and finds a way to sleep.  
  
\------------------  
  
Bellamy gets to the warehouse at the address Octavia sent him. It’s large and open. He enters the elevator and adjusts the sling. He decided to forgo medications, so the pain was of course killing him.  
  
He finds the door, _So much for a false door_ and rings the doorbell. A moment passes and he hears a buzzing sound.  
  
Suddenly the brick wall next to him opens away from him. He tries to act nonchalant but that is probably the coolest thing he’s ever seen.  
  
“Bellamy, hey come on in,” he finds Clarke in the kitchen of the open floorplan flat. She’s not wearing a skirt, instead opting for a tee shirt and blue jean shorts. He thinks there’s paint on them? Maybe from painting the apartment.  
  
She’s also got cake dust on her nose. She bakes.  
  
“I don’t think it was Carl Emerson,” he says as he follows her from the kitchen to the living room where Emily is waiting. Clarke was apparently carrying tea. He didn’t notice because he was too busy looking at the giant tv on the wall. Vikings playing on it.  
  
“The obvious theory is that it was Carl trying to kill Emily. But Carl couldn’t have known about the witness until Cage told him so. This your safe house? What are you kidding me? How big is this television?”  
  
“It’s actually our apartment, we all wanted to live together until we could get more comfortable. Keep things consistent to where we were living back at Quantico, kind of on the down low. But go ahead, what were you saying?”  
  
“By the time of the shooting, Roma knew that the lineup was bogus. So she would have called Carl’s lawyer and Carl’s lawyer would have told Carl. So why shoot anyone?”  
  
“He could still hate me for trying to put him in jail,” Emily thinks.  
  
“Not that much, not enough to take such a public risk,” Bellamy argues.  
  
“So, you have no idea who shot at me, or why. No leads, nothing? So I’m never going home?”  
  
“We’re going to make this right. We’re going to do everything we can do to find this killer,” Clarke says, sitting on the coffee table in front of Emily, trying to calm her. “All actions have ramifications and all actions leave evidence. We’ll find the evidence and go where it takes us. We’re still looking for the gun, you know?”  
  
Emily looks more and more nervous when Clarke gets a call.  
  
“Griffin,” she answered. “Ah great, great, thank you.” Clarke hangs up the phone. “They found the gun. Listen, Monty is here and if you need anything, just ask. I think we’ll be finished with this case soon. Just think of it as a staycation!”  
  
\--------------------  
  
“Did the homeless individual touch the weapon?” Clarke asks, holding the gun between two fingers, examining it with her little white gloves and taking a swab from the handle. She surprised Bellamy again as they pulled up to the scene when she jumped up into the dumpster the gun was disposed into. Today she wasn’t wearing a dress or a skirt, luckily. She had chosen black jeans and her standard issued FBI jacket. It had a little patch on the front that read “Evidence Response Team” on it.  
  
“I don’t think so, at least he says he didn’t,” the officer on duty answered.  
  
She examined the gun closely. “Hey look at this, it’s possible it’s flesh behind the hammer. We’ll need DNA analysis,” she observes to Bellamy, showing him the gun and handing him the swab so she can climb out of the dumpster.  
  
Bellamy takes the swab and smells it.  
  
“It’s not flesh. It’s anchovy.” Bellamy immediately grabs his phone and calls Monty.  
  
“Where’s Emily, lock the place down.”  
  
“Emily’s fine, no one has even come around here.”  
  
“I’m not worried about Emily. She’s the shooter. She hid her gun in the pizza box,” he catches Clarke’s eyes as she realizes it too.  
  
He hears Monty search the house.  
  
“Emily, hey I just wanted to make sure you’re good,” Monty gets no response from the empty house. He sees a window to the fire escape is open.  
  
“She’s gone.”  
  
Bellamy hangs up the phone. “Third guy from the left.” Bellamy mutters to himself.  
  
“We know where she’s going,” Clarke soothes him.  
  
Bellamy gets a call.  
  
“It’s Emily.”  
  
“What’s Emily, Octavia?”  
  
“I’m at Keenan’s house. Remember the story about the girl who OD’d? That’s the case I’ve been working on. Lincoln told me to try her family. He figured they’d know something about who she might have been hanging out with and maybe they’d talked. I’m looking at the picture of the girl, Keenan, and her half-sister. It’s Emily.”  
  
“It’s personal,” Bellamy whispers, looking at Clarke. Clarke stomps on the gas of the SUV, on their way to Carl Emerson’s mansion as Bellamy calls for backup.  
  
\-------------  
  
They arrive at Emerson’s mansion and run up the pretty brick walkway. When they reach the solid wood door, Clarke presses her ear to the door and hears low speaking, pleading almost.  
  
“It’s Emily, she’s here,” she tells Bellamy and draws her gun out of its holster.  
  
He busts the door down in one hit with his leg, which is impressive considering his wound, “Arcadia Police” “FBI” they yell into the dark house. They begin searching each room, one covering the other through the entrance of each doorway.  
  
They find Carl on his knees in the kitchen and Emily with a gun to his head. Clarke holds Bellamy back to turn the microphone on her phone to record.  
  
“She’d been clean for three months and two weeks later, she was dead,” Emily says, with shaky hands and hate in her eyes.  
  
“I’ve got a family, I’ve got kids. It wasn’t personal. I didn’t kill your sister. “  
  
“You just provided her with them-“  
  
“No, I sold drugs to a guy, who sold drugs to a guy who sold drugs to her. Do you have any idea what it gets mixed with? Cut with, stepped on? You’ve got a lot of people to kill kid,” he’s pleading yet still aggressive.  
  
“So you’re not a bad guy? You just sold drugs to a bag guy?” Emily says, pushing the gun harder against his temple.  
  
Clarke and Bellamy enter the room, both guns drawn and aimed at Emily.  
  
“Put it down Emily, put the gun down,” Clarke says. She doesn’t want to have to shoot the young girl.  
  
“You know what, don’t,” Bellamy says, lowering his weapon and slowly walking towards her.  
  
“Bellamy, she’s got a gun, a pointed gun,” Clarke reminds him, nervously watching him as Emily points her weapon at Bellamy, and then back at Emerson.  
  
“She’s not a killer,” Bellamy responds. Emily’s eyes shift between Bellamy and Emerson. She looks like she wants to believe him but is scared and angry. Clarke realizes that she’s still mourning, she’s been there, she knows the feeling.  
  
“She has killed before,” Clarke answers, confused.  
  
“Emily I know you’re scared,” he says in a rough but persuasive voice. “But the police will be here soon, you have to stop this now. You don’t have to do this. You and I, we aren’t model citizens. But I have a question for you, why are you doing this to him? It’s not going to bring your sister back and all that is going to happen is you’re going to go to jail longer with more on your conscience.” He’s kneeling next to Carl Emerson now. Emily took a step back so he wouldn’t make a move for her weapon, but it was still aimed at Carl’s head.  
  
“Draw your weapon officer,” Clarke demanded, getting more and more worried about the man in front of her, risking his life to save a young girl.  
  
“You’re not going to shoot me or him,” Bellamy reveals. “You know that if you shoot him, she’s going to shoot you. But I know you, you’re my people. I’m going to do whatever I can to help you with this. You’re not a bad person.”  
  
“I don’t have any choice now,” Emily states with tears running down her cheeks.  
  
“Emily, you can stop this, you can change this, you could even kill me. But I don’t think you will. You aren’t evil, Emily. You’re just pissed and you want him to pay,” he says to her. He reaches up for her to hand him the gun. “Give me the gun and you’ll be amazed at how good it feels, to not have this pressure on your conscience anymore.”  
  
She’s crying but she finally locks eyes with him. Emily takes a shuddering breath and, to Clarke’s amazement, she slowly hands him the gun.  
  
He stands up and pulls her by the arm out of the room. Clarke and Carl stay there in silence and relief that no more blood was spilled. Then she turns off her phone, with Emerson’s confession on tape, and pulls out her handcuffs to arrest him as well.  
  
“I’m sorry it had to be this way,” she hears Bellamy tell Emily as they walk out the front door. Clarke hears the sirens pulling up.  
  
\--------------------------  
  
Clarke checked her reflection in the mirror of her office to make sure she was entirely presentable. She knew her mother would be watching. The bust had taken down one of Arcadia’s biggest drug lords and of course there would be a press release. She didn’t intend on being introduced in the media this early in the game but since she was the lead on the investigation, she was the one the press went to directing questions.  
  
She exits the FBI office and stands at the top of the stairs, the entire Arcadia press below her. Captain Kane introduced her to the small podium and she noticed that the entire Detective Squad was standing against the wall, excited. They must not be used to this kind of attention.  
  
“I want to applaud what I consider to be the backbone of the investigation. This is an organization of men and women, heroes all, the Arcadia Police Department,” Clarke began, motioning towards the men and women slowly straightening their postures because cameras started flashing in their direction. “Lead by Commander Marcus Kane, and one of the very best of local law enforcement, who I’ve been partnered with on this investigation, Detective Bellamy Blake.”  
  
She walks towards the opposite wall, where he’s standing alone. _He’s so used to being a lone wolf_ , Clarke muses as she grabs his warm hand and tugs him towards the podium.  
  
“This is one hell of a cop,” she says, smiling with him for photo ops. She thanks Kane and Bellamy and Kane takes over the questions as she and Bellamy walk back to the side together.  
  
“Guess I should get used to photo ops with you here, huh Princess?” he says in her ear, leaning down.  
  
She resists a shiver and simply smirks. She knows he can see it from the corner of his eye.  
  
“No really Princess, you just made their month. Thank you,” Bellamy says, sincerity dripping off his voice. She glances over at them, it’s true, they looked pretty happy to have gotten recognition for a big case, but when she looks at him, she realizes that he cares about them more than he lets on. She smiles genuinely at him and then checks herself. _He doesn’t want that kind of attention from me_ , she remembers.  
  
\------------------------  
  
“Hey Bellamy, I was at the other office and Clarke asked me to tell you she wants to talk to you before you leave,” Jasper tells him in passing.  
  
“What am I? Her new assistant?” he jokes to Jasper. Jasper chuckles and throws some popcorn in the air to catch with his mouth. Bellamy is constantly surprised that this kid made it to Detective faster than he did. He was really great at drug busts though, he knew how to think like a user.  
  
Bellamy waited until the end of the day when the squad slowly trickled out of the office. He was shot so he had a lot of paperwork to catch up on anyways. Doing the paperwork was almost more painful the getting shot.  
  
He’s putting off seeing Clarke and doesn’t realize how much time passes by when he hears the door open and now familiar clacking on the concrete floor.  
  
“So did you get lost in your paperwork or are you refusing to see me,” Clarke asks. He realizes the room is empty. He vaguely remembers Octavia leaving, mentioning she was going on a date tonight and she’d be back late.  
  
“Yes?” He responds jokingly. He stretches his aching arm and leans back in his chair. The wound was healing well but it still needed time.  
  
“I noticed you put art up in there today,” he says, turning to her. He notices she’s got her briefcase with her.  
  
“Indeed. That’s all I spend my time doing, painting and hanging art,” she says with a smile. “Why didn’t you come in?”  
  
“Paperwork. And I should get back to it. Is there something you needed, Princess?”  
  
Her eyes tighten at the nickname.  
  
“That thing back there with Emily, about pressures and conscience? Seemed awfully personal,” she answers, leaning against his desk.  
  
Silence.  
  
“If there’s anything I can help with, let me know,” she crosses her arms over her chest and he has to look away so he doesn’t stare. “ You know, if someone reaches out, it doesn’t make you lesser to take their hand.”  
  
“You want to hold my hand now Clarke, is that it?” He says angrily, shocked that she has reached that conclusion about him.  
  
“Metaphorically,” she responds, now angry as well. He glances at her and sees that she’s flushed.  
  
“Bite me, Princess,” he says with a nod and a smirk, “metaphorically.”  
  
“Oh, I see, so you’re either too prideful, too stubborn. Or you just don’t like me, which is fine, but you shouldn’t let it get in the way of accepting my help on your cases,” she demands, matter of factly.  
  
“You’re right. On the other hand, I don’t know you. I don’t know why you were sent here. Because you won’t tell me.”  
  
She inhales and looks away from him. With a curt nod, she stands up and grabs her briefcase from the floor.  
  
“I see. I should be getting home. I’ll see you around, Bellamy.”  
  
As she walks away, he decides to say something without even thinking about it.  
  
“It’s not that I don’t like you Clarke, I just don’t trust you.”  
  
He hears her steps pause and then continue, he hears her open the door and exit down the stairs. He sighs and gets back to his paperwork.

**Author's Note:**

> Clarke Griffin - Agent Milton  
> Bellamy Blake - Detective Russ Agnew  
> Raven Reyes - Detective Fontanelle  
> Nathan Miller - Detective Aaron Funkhauser  
> Monty Green (subbing for) - Office Manager, Holly  
> Marcus Kane - Commander Guziewicz  
> Octavia Blake - Detecive Erin Jacocks  
> Jasper Jordan - Detective Niblet  
> Maya Vie - Meredith Oberling  
> John Murphy - Teddy the Snitch  
> Charolette (subbing for) - Brady Dallas-Guziewicz


End file.
